


Fallout: Devolution

by Nyxalinth



Category: DEVO (band), Fallout (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fallout, Brotherhood of Steel - Freeform, Crossover, F/M, Fallout 3 - Freeform, Gen, ghoul character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-10 04:53:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12904479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxalinth/pseuds/Nyxalinth
Summary: Inspired by Fallout and Devo's old interviews and videos, including "The Men Who Make The Music" this answers the question "What if DEVO had not only played with Recombo DNA, but also put themselves in cryostasis to await a better tomorrow? How would the world they create mesh with that of The Stranger, a resident of Vault 49? What would happen?"Boring Legalese:Legalese and Disclaimers: I do not own the Fallout Series. That belongs to Bethesda Softworks. DEVO belong to themselves, not me (but they're welcome to hang out here all they want, any time). If asked by either part to cease and desist, that's that.Furthermore, no real life person in the story is being portrayed or intended to be portrayed as "This is the real deal". Anything written is extrapolated from interviews, videos, my own imagination, and intuition. Don't sue me, bro!





	1. Out of Sync

War. War never changes.

There are those who have said that Mankind reached the peak of its intellectual, spiritual, and artistic prowess in the 1950s, and that we as a species began our inevitable backslide into degeneracy as a whole shortly after. The events of the past two hundred and thirty years are proof of this.

This theory, called 'De-evolution', was brought to people by five young men who saw what our fate might otherwise be. Calling themselves Devo, they sought to bring warning, and perhaps change, to the world before it was too late.

As is so often the case with the words of men too wise before their time, the message was rejected, ridiculed. Unable or unwilling to watch as humanity marched in lockstep towards its final stupidity, Devo withdrew from the world, and took their message with them.

But not everyone ignored their philosophy. A small group of men and women took these words to heart, and kept them true, and as the centuries passed, they began spreading the word once more. Devo returned from wherever they'd secluded themselves, and founded a community of like-minded mutants. The word began to spread once more, and people from as far as the New California Republic, Boston, and the remnants of Washington DC began to make their way to Akron.

Not all is well, however. Recently, Akron has shut itself off from the world. The huge gates closing the city off every winter have remained sealed this spring. Akron is a major trade hub in Ohio, far from the lingering radioactive deathtraps full of super mutants and other horrors. The Outcast Brotherhood of Steel passes through there every spring.

What will become of both Akron and Vault 49 are, at this point in history, unknown. Nor is it known how Devo managed to survive for over two hundred years, seemingly asleep as humanity faced destruction several times over.

Two things, however, remain constant: we are all Devo, and war...

...war never changes.

 

Part One: Akron

 

****

"Come on, you stupid piece of junk...just...goddamn...work already!"

I pushed the broken radio away in disgust. One more second of handling the damn stupid thing, and I was going to wind up giving it a 'Luddite massage', as Dad would say. Right now, smashing it didn't seem like a bad idea, except, of course, that it was the only radio system that the Vault had. "Makes perfect sense," I said to myself. I leaned back in my chair and stared up at the ceiling. "I wonder what super-genius decided to give our vault exactly one of everything even remotely important?"

No answer came, of course, least of all from the worthless piece of old pre-war shit on the workbench in front of me. Tech repairs were my area of expertise, so it was rare that something even remotely thwarted me like this. When it did thwart me, I went from mild-mannered vault vixen to black-tongued terror. My brother had told me once "Shae, you're one of the sweetest, kindest women I know, but when you get mad, that mouth of yours could turn the plants in the atrium dead black."

I couldn't argue that. If swearing was an art form, I'd be one of the Old Masters. Nowadays, though, I seemed more interested in new and almost avant-garde compositions combining old favorites ("fuck") with more creative and elaborate set-pieces, such as "Fuck me with a stick sideways and call me George" and "cocksucking son of a sphyllitic centaur"

I didn't go around flinging these words about in casual conversation. I didn't go up to my father and say "Hey Dad, how the fuck was your day?" or tell old Mrs. Wentzel, "Hope you're doing goddamned fine today, ma'am." In normal conversation, when I wasn't pissed off, I didn't swear. Much. But rile me up, and let's just say it was a wonder that the old Vault door stayed intact as long as it had. That damn thing had fallen off its track about twenty-five years ago, and now it lay askew in the cavern leading to the Vault entrance. Just another thing about our wonderful little corner of post-nuclear America.

Needless to say, my coarse verbal creativity didn't endear me to many. Not that much about me did to begin with. I was always the odd woman out. This was just one more thing that set me apart from everyone else. I supposed I could have changed who I was and made myself more popular, but what was the point, really? I wasn't going to be something that I wasn't, and if the Vault ninnies didn't like it, they could get fucked, and certainly not by me.

I sighed and pulled the magnifying goggles off my head. Setting them aside, I brushed my bangs out of my eyes, then stood up. It was time for lunch. Besides, I could use a nip. Maybe Vargas had another bottle of whiskey. I was far from a heavy drinker, but I still enjoyed the occasional snort of booze.

****

"No such luck," he said, shaking his head when I asked. "Traded my last bottle for some cigarettes. You want one?" he shook one out of the pack and stuck it in his mouth, then offered the pack to me. I shook my head.

"Nah, you know I don't smoke. Thanks anyway."

He chuckled. "Limiting your vices to drinking and swearing, eh? Not that you do much of either. Just ignore those twits who complain about it." When the Overseer wasn't looking, he plopped extra slice of brahmin loaf on my plate, and winked.

I smiled. "You're going to make me fat, Vargas."

"Naw, jes' keep you healthy looking, Shae. Bone is for the dog. Meat is for the man." Vargas was an outrageous flirt, and based on that one might assume he'd slept with half the ladies in the vault. Truth was though while his eyes wandered, his heart--and presumably his dick--belonged only to his wife, Rose.

I smiled, feeling my face warm up a little. Well, I was 5'7" and one hundred fifty pounds of healthy. I'd never been slender, In times before the war, that would have counted against me. Now, two-hundred thirty years later, it was considered an asset. Still, my mouthiness and way of living life con brio put most people off. You'd think we still lived back in the 1950s, or something, when ladies were expected to wear pearls and gloves and clean the house in high heels. I thanked Vargas under my breath for the extra food, then took a seat near the old jukebox. I kept that thing running, too. Barely.

If you were a visitor to what was left of our Vault--and we did get them, mostly traders from out of Akron--you'd think we had some kind of fetish about conformity. We were racially diverse, yes, but otherwise, everything seemed to have an unwritten rule about it, and I, of course, violated most of them. Usually it wasn't intentional. Or it was with regards to something stupid, like the fact I wore my brown hair long and straight past my shoulders instead of bleaching it blonde and wearing it in a soft wavy bob, or eschewing nail polish (it flaked off and got into the delicate electronics I worked with) or the fact that my hobbies were more aligned to reading, history, and animals than getting married and helping to repopulate the wasteland. As far as I was concerned, that was the last fucking thing we needed to do. So to speak.

I was the Vault misfit--one of them, anyway--and that wasn't likely to change I usually didn't mind it too much. I had enough friends--fellow social mutants, as we called ourselves--to keep from being lonely. I had my dad, and David, my brother. Vargas and Rose were friends. And the Overseer, while he could be a bit of an old poop sometimes, was fond of me and I knew it. there were times, though, when I saw the more socially adept citizens of our happy little half-assed Vault (so called because ever since our hydroponics labs had failed--thanks, Vault-tec--we'd begun topside farming and raising brahmin with aid of some of the mutant folks from Akron, and because, as I'd mentioned earlier--the Vault door had fallen off when I was three and hadn't ever been put back to rights. it would have taken a Super Mutant to put it back on track, and since from what I knew they were not terribly inclined to be friendly to 'normals' even if they weren't brutal and violent, I doubted that it ever would be.

We were pretty lucky, though. All things considered, it could have gone loads worse for us. We could have starved or had our Vault raided by Raiders or Super Mutants or the Outcast Brotherhood of Steel could have decided that we were worth more to them dead than as trading partners. Even the mutant community off to the east in Akron could decide that we posed a threat to them or have any other reason to simply curbstomp our Vault to tomato paste and be done with it. Only a great fool didn't consider such things, but thankfully, they'd never given us true cause to worry.

That brought me to why I was struggling so mightily to fix our one and only radio. It was getting into Spring now, and soon the snow and mud of Winter would dry up and the caravans would begin passing through once more. Every Spring, the huge steel gates closing Akron away for the winter season would open, admitting trade back and forth. Caravans would pass through on their way south to Kentucky or far west to Toledo, east into Pennsylvania. Those gates were the stuff of legend: twenty feet high, and made of steel scavenged from the old factories, dead vehicles, and the occasional menacing robot that wandered too close to the range of the sharpshooters on the walls.

Every year, the traders would call on the radio, letting us know they were coming, but of course with the radio broken, there was simply no way. Just as importantly, should either they or we need the assistance of the other, there was no way to field or send distress calls. It's what had me so wound up, other than I hated being thwarted by technology. I didn't know too much about the mutant leaders, only that it was rumored they had a rather unusual philosophy and that they had, somehow, been alive since before the war. Long before the war, and yet the oldest of them seemed to be barely approaching forty.

That right there was sufficiently relevant to my own interests. If it was true, what sort of things had they seen and done? It was amazing! Not that I'd really get a chance to see their city. It was strictly an "Invitation Only" sort of thing, and I doubted that one scruffy tech nerd was suddenly going to get an invitation for tea and Fancy Lad Snack Cakes any time soon.

I finished up my lunch and piled my silverware on the tray. As I was carrying it to the scullery, I heard someone call my name.

"Shae, might I have a moment of your time, young lady?"

"Of course, Overseer." Overseer Redden was tall, slightly chubby, and graying prematurely at the temples. Lines seamed his brown face, the marks of care in a harsh world. He could be a fussbudget, but he cared about us, and that was what mattered most. I followed him to his office, a place to which I'd been only rarely, and once we were inside, he asked me to have a seat.

Once I was seated, he said, "Is that radio still giving you trouble?"

I nodded. "Yep. without getting into specifics, sir, I would bet di--err, dollars to doughnuts that it's the shortwave receiver, or possibly the--"

He raised his hand. "All right, I get it. I understand. It isn't too often that something electronic defies your attempts at fixing it. That's part of the problem though. Our friends in Akron can't contact us, nor we them. And now, something else is going on over there." He leaned forward and in a low voice, he said, "The gates haven't opened yet. For anyone."

"How do we know that?" I asked. I had a suspicion, though, which was confirmed when he said, 'We have scouts in the area, just as the folks over there no doubt send their scouts over here. That might not sound terribly trusting or friendly, but it is what it is. Neither our Vault that Isn't a vault nor their community are great fools, Shae. Allies, yes, but not fools. This is the wasteland, after all."

"Understood, but what do you want me to do?" I was a techie, not a secret agent. If he was suggesting that I go over there and spy out the reason for the unopened gate, he was better off sending someone with more finesse.

"I want you to go over there," he said simply.

"But--"

He held up a hand. "Hear me out, please. We want for you to talk to them directly. No sneaking, no subterfuge. Approach the gates. There's an intercom there. Use it, then wait. They'll either let you in, or they won't. If they don't, come back. For God's sake, Shae, don't argue with them or cuss them out, okay?"

He knew me too well. "Okay." I took a deep breath. I could have asked "Why me?" but really, I already knew. I was socially a mutant. Redden figured I'd be more likely to be accepted than someone who was a total 'normie'. "Instead, I asked, "When do I leave?"

"You can go tomorrow morning," he said, "but if you set out in the next hour or so, you can make it there by sunset. Shae... please don't take this the wrong way, but you really are the best person for the job."

I nodded. "I know. Well. Best I get going. I want to pack a few small things before I go, and tell Dad and Dave."

"Right. You're dismissed. and Shae? Please be careful. You might feel expendable, but you really aren't."

That made me smile a little. "Thank you, sir."

Once I'd packed and let my dad and brother know what I was doing and why, I had to get going. Neither was happy about it, and Dave said, "Sis, I'll come with you if you want. Stay overnight, then come back in the morning."

I shook my head. "Nah, I'm fine, Dave. Really. Dad needs your help in the lab more than I need an escort." Dad was a biologist, and his research involved keeping the brahmin we raised and the plants we grew hale and hearty. One of the females was about to give birth. The two-headed cattle were strange for sure, but had adapted marvelously to the rigors of the nuclear wasteland. Because of his efforts, we had brahmin hides, milk, meat and cheese, both for ourselves, and to trade.

Dad said, "Be careful, young lady. And have respect. if what I hear is true, those fellows running the place look barely older than your brother, but they're really over three hundred years old. That makes them your elders," he added with a half-joking smile.

"I promise, Dad. I'll behave, so long as no one pisses me off. I can't promise anything then... but I'll try."

"Guess I'll have to accept that, then." Hugs all around, then I picked up my back pack, shouldered it, and headed out.

****

The gates loomed ahead in the late afternoon sun. I'd made better time than expected. Most of winter's ice and snow were gone, and while the air was chilly enough that I could see my breath, the sun made it feel warmer than it was. Here too was the intercom, set into the wall of the outer rampart. It was jury-rigged to be sure, but I couldn't argue with the workmanship: neat, efficient, safe, and as I found out when I pushed the button, quite workable.

I saw figures pacing about on the wall. Now seeing me, they all grew still, watching me. I did my best to not feel intimidated, knowing that one of those sharpshooters could easily decorate the wall here with my brains. I forced myself to wait patiently.

Finally, there was a voice. Wary and a little raspy, but a voice all the same. "Whats your business with Akron, normie?"

"I'm from Vault 49. I was sent by Overseer Redden to find out why the gates are still closed."

Silence. then brief discussion that I couldn't make out. Now a different voice, clear, but irritable. 'Because we've been calling you people for three fucking days. So we kept the gates shut, figuring it would get your attention. Looks like it worked." A pause, then with wry sarcasm, he added, "How do you like being ignored, eh?"

"Well, excuse me, Mr Crabby Pants," I said, feeling my metaphorical feathers ruffle. "Our radio is out of order. I've been working on it for the past fucking week." I wasn't pissed, but I was annoyed, and if some guard goon was going to be a dick, then he could have a taste right back.

More discussion. Then, the second voice spoke again, saying, "All right, spudess. We're letting you in. Just keep in mind: We're watching you. Don't start anything, and there won't be anything."

'Spudess?' Well, at least they didn't call me 'Scum;'. The gates parted open, letting me in under the watchful eyes of the gate guards.

****

End of Chapter One Status

Shae Montgomery Richardson

Karma: Good

Karmic Title: Sentinel

Level 3

Age: 28

Tag Skills: Repair, Science, Small Guns

S.P.E.C.I.A.L: Strength: 5 Perception; 7 Endurance: 5 Charisma: 4 Agility: 6 Intelligence: 7 Luck: 5

Perks:

Daddy's Girl  
Just like dear old Dad, you’ve devoted your time to intellectual pursuits. You gain an additional 5 points to both the Science and Medicine skills.

Gun Nut  
You are obsessed with using and maintaining a wide variety of conventional firearms. With each rank of the Gun Nut perk, you gain an additional 5 points to the Small Guns and Repair skills.


	2. Gates of Steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Founders of Akron have let Shae through the Gates of Steel, and she immediately crosses wits with the town's leaders.

I stepped through the now open gates, moving just far enough into the town proper to get enough clearance from them as they slid shut behind me. Just considering the massive gates alone, i could see why no one had dared to anger the mutants living here. It would have been like kicking the nest of normally agreeable but quick-tempered wasps. Once you riled them up, there'd be no stopping them until you or they were all dead. I couldn't blame them. Akron took enough shit just for being a community of mutants. Even though these mutants were not of the Master's Army from out NCR--New California Republic--way, nor the massive yellow brutes found near DC, they still faced signifcant prejudices. Oh, mind, a few of the big FEV mutants were present, and said to be smarter and friendlier than their more brutal and dimwitted kin in the ruins of Cleveland and Cuyahoga Falls. I'd also heard that there were a few ghouls on hand as well. Apparently, Akron's enigmatic leaders didn't mind either sort, as long as they kept their noses clean and worked hard, so the story went.

Turning back the way I came, I studied now closed gates. I'd never seen such a random collection of metal in all my life, yet it was very obvious to me that hodgepodge or not, they were strong, thick, and very effective. The rumor went that Akron's massive gated walls could take a direct hit from a MIRV and remain standing in a tall, silent 'Fuck you' to the attacker. Given Akron's importance as a trade hub, however, no one had ever cared to try. Also, the only thing worse than a tough crowd of angry mutants had to be a tough crowd of irradiated, angry mutants.

I had to admit that they were an impressive feat of engineering, ingenuity, and clever scavenging. Along with the aforementioned bits of destroyed robot (One panel was clearly forged from the chassis of an erstwhile Mr. Gutsy military unit) were doors from old Corvegas, panels from Quonset huts hammered flat, and even an almost intact wing from a DC-10. How they'd ever managed such massive feats of building was a mystery unto itself. 'The old Vault door would be right at home here,' I thought with a grin.

I tilted my head back and looked up at the folks manning the walls. Some of them looked suspiciously at me, but others gave me brief, curious stares before returning their attention back to the wastes beyond it served to remind me that 'normal' and 'mutant' were subjective terms,and that I, as the lone human with no mutations, was the freak here.

"Hey! Forty-Nine! Over here!"

"Huh?" It took me a moment to realize that shouter meant me, and referred, no doubt, to the large yellow "49" plastered to the back of my bright blue Vault coveralls. I looked pretty stupid, no doubt, as I turned around to face the speaker.

A tall ghoul of indeterminate age approached me, His battered old leather long coat flying out behind him like a vampire's cape in one of those old movies. Though a stormchaser hat and scarf partially concealed his face, his straggling, thin locks of graying brown hair and the fact that the visible parts of his face looked about as fresh as two hundred year old jerky gave his nature away. So too did his raspy voice as he said, "Yeah, you. Are they breeding them to be deaf as well as stupid in the vaults these days?"

"What did I do to you?" I demanded, hands on hips. "I'm here by invitation from that other grumpy son of a, err, beehive," I quickly corrected, remembering my promise to my dad. "So what are you so grumpy about, anyway?" Mind, I thought, if I looked like six week old Cram left outside to desiccate in the sun, i might be a bit bitchy, too.

The ghoul's faded gray eyes glared at me as he said, "Look, smoothskin. I got a bottle of Nuka Cola back at my table with my name on it. But am I drinking it? No, I was sent by the boss to play babysitter to a normie. So come on, kiddo. I ain't got all day, and he ain't the most patient mutant in the world lately."

"Considering you've got enough firepower on the walls to blow away a fucking behemoth, I'd say one puny normie isn't much to worry over. Is your boss that grumpy gus I heard on the intercom?' I hurried to keep up with the ghoul, whose long legs could take one step to my two.

He turned to fix me with a stern look. "Watch what you say about the boss, kiddo. He's one of the five founders of this community. He's also not in the best of moods, so watch yourself. Don't speak out of turn, don't hassle him, and if he tells you to get lost, by god, do it." His voice lowered as he grumbled, "His bark's worse than his bite, but I can't guarantee that with a normie."

I longed to get a good look around, but with my escort moving so quickly, it was hard to look and walk and keep his pace at the same time. besides, I wasn't there to sightsee. I was here on business. There'd be time to gawk at and be gawked at later. Already I could feel the curious stares of the locals, her the soft sussuruss of voices as they talked about me.

"She's funny looking.' "How do normies get by with such small ears?" "What an ugly wench!" "How does she see with only two eyes?" "She's from that Vault not far from here. Why did she come?" and so on. it took a heroic effort not to let them have it with both verbal barrels and unload my best and most epic swearing, the least of which involved 'Born from the stinkhole of a Brahmin". Besides, rude comments were just that: comments. It's not like they were shooting at me.I took a deep breath and remained calm.

"Come on, we're almost there. Then I can drink my Nuka Cola in peace," he grumbled as we passed a group of mutant children. One of them sported long, pointed ears, another had a long, fleshy tail. All of them jeered and called out names as we passed. I thought about giving them all a double salute with my middle fingers, but this was neither the time nor the place. They were still just kids, after all, and returning fire would not endear me to the locals or their leaders. They laughed as we passed, making chicken sounds at me.

Finally, the tall ghoul led me to the door of a house that had once perhaps been red, but with the passing of two hundred years had faded to a washed out pink. He entered without knocking, and gestured impatiently at me to follow him. I did so, and he led me to a room which in the back-when days had been the parlor. Now it was an office. One wall sported a huge map of all the local wasteland upon it. I spotted my Vault's location easily and immediately. Far to the east was Ravenna, a "?" marked on it. Perhaps it was intended for future scouting. To the northeast was Cuyahoga Falls, and further north, Cleveland had been marked. Both locations bore the age-old yellow and black symbols for radiation, and the Falls was also labeled "Here be Mutants". I took that to mean the not so friendly as here sort, not that I'd been getting a warm reaction so far.

On the opposite was was a hand lettered sign with an arrow pointing down the hall. it read "Clinic" and I supposed it was where the town's doctor saw patients, tending the ill and wounded. Well, what else would they do there, Shae? Make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? From what I'd heard, the brother of the town's de facto leader was Akron's doctor, or at least one of them. 

There was a leather couch here, and stretched out on it was a lanky, dark haired mutant, his long-fingered hands folded lightly atop his chest as he snored away. His ears stuck out like small satellite dishes on either side of his head. 'He could probably hear a mouse fart with those,' I thought, and had to bite my lips to keep from grinning.

Opposite the couch were two desks, the smaller of the two with a softly glowing bottle of Nuka Cola atop it. Condensation from the bottle had first beaded then run down the bottle to form a puddle around it. I saw the ghoul glance towards it, then with effort that made him tremble a little, he pulled his attention away from it to address the mutant seated behind the larger desk.

"Here's the normie kid from the Vault, Jerry."

The one he addressed as Jerry turned my way from the schematic he was studying and fixed me with a dour stare. As I watched, he pulled off the sunglasses he wore, even in here, where the early spring's bright sun didn't quite reach.

I had to quickly rein in my surprise. He looked almost as normal as I did, except that his ears held slightly tapering points and his eyes were amber-hazel, the pupils slit like a cat's. Aside from that, and the fact that he looked about as pleased to see me as he would be to see a pile of brahmin shit on his desk, he was quite good looking. Actually, I have to admit, the unusual features enhance his looks I thought. I hoped I didn't look too idiotic for gawking at him.

A slight smile on his face made even more fascinating to me as he said, "Thank you, Edgar. I'm sorry to have interrupted your break. Better drink your Nuka Cola before it gets warm."

"Thanks, Jerry." Edgar the ghoul went to his desk. Pulling down the face scarf he wore, he opened the bottle easily with his teeth and spat out the cap. He drank down half the bottle and belched with surprising juiciness for someone so raw and dry looking.

Jerry studied me a moment, taking my measure, saying, "So. Let me get this straight. Your fucking vault hasn't answered us because your radio is broken. Presumably, it's the only one on hand. Also presumably, you're unable to fix it?"

"That is correct," I said, a trifle stiffly. I wasn't very impressed with him so far, either. I didn't care how pretty his eyes were or-- um, well. Besides, this was business. I could get laid easily enough at the Vault, and a mutant with a stroppy attitude wasn't earning my favors that easily. The partners I had at the vault were good friends, and I'd known them since we were kids.

"I see. Has your vault always made it a habit to have no back-ups for anything important on hand? Such as the shortwave radio or its component parts which allow you to communicate with us, every spring?"

"Look, I--"

He waved a hand, dismissing me. "I don't want to hear it. Go tell Mark your sob story. He and his brother are brilliant with that sort of shit. Especially his brother."

"But I came to ask--"

"Talk to Mark." His eyes narrowed, showing pinpoints of orangeish light. Something else was in them too, as he took the measure of me again, something that I didn't recognize.

"I came all this way, and you're foisting me on your second in command? I don't believe this shit.'

"Talk. To. Mark."

"Fine, I'm going," I snapped. "I didn't want to talk to you anyway, you big jerk." His eyes blazed, and his fingers twitched. He looked like he wanted to strangle me. I guess that he wasn't used to being talked to in such a manner. Especially by a woman. Maybe so, but I wasn't afraid of him. My back was up now, goddamn it, and I glared back. Just one more word out of you, jerkass, and you'll get the full measure of my verbal assault. Then I remembered my promise, and held onto my tongue. Barely.

"Edgar? Escort the lady to Mark, will you? Do take your drink with you this time. I know you've gone ages without one." I heard a fondness in Jerry's voice now. Whatever I might have thought of him, he cared deeply for his people. And, Edgar had said that Jerry was in a bad mood. Perhaps something had him worried.

Whatever it was, I wasn't going to find out just yet. Edgar nodded to me, the bottle still in his hand. In a tone far kinder than he'd used with me earlier, he said, "Come on, kiddo. Let's go see Mark." He headed out of the door. As I followed, I felt Jerry's eyes on me. The feeling wasn't entirely unwelcome. "Ugh, Shae, what the fuck?" Rudeness or not, I found him compelling, a feeling that was no doubt not at all reciprocated.

****

Mark wasn't there when we arrived, as we were told by the Mr Handy bot present. The unit went by the name of Belvedere, and he (I tended to think of Mr Handy units as 'he', because of their usually male names and because their voice modulators often had masculine tones) Informed us, "Master Mark is not currently available, I fear. He has, I deem, headed over to the old electronics store building. Ergtronics. You are, of course, welcome to wait for him."

"Shall we wait?" I asked Edgar. The ghoul shook his head. "Nah, if Mark is over there, he'll probably be scavenging around for parts for that old synthesizer he's working on. He'll be gone for a couple hours. Best we just head on over and talk to him there. You might get to meet his brother, Bob, too. We call him Bob 1 because Jerry has a brother named Bob, as well."

"So, would he be Bob 2 then?" I asked. What a stupid question, and of course, Edgar wasted no time in pouncing on my inane question with a sarcastic quip. "No, smoothskin, he's Bob 74. I think Jerry is right: the Vaults are breeding them stupid these days."

"Oh sure," I grouched as we left the workshop. "Just because I'm not a mutant, I'm automatically an idiot?" Fuck me for a dollar, but I'd been here for less than an hour and already the mutants had given me more shit than a rose garden in the spring time.

Edgar regarded me with cool gray eyes. "Yeah, just like all mutants are bloodthirsty, hulking monstrosities. I've seen you look at people here, Forty-Nine. we aren't monsters. We're people... just different."

"I never thought--"

He cut me off. "No, you haven't said we're monsters. Maybe you didn't even think it. But you keep gawking around like you're looking at the exhibits in a pre-war zoo."

"I--" I began, but then my shoulders sagged. "You're right. I didn't mean to stare." My eyes took in the sidewalk as we walked together as if it were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. I sighed deeply. "My dad raised me better than that. I'm sorry."

Edgar's voice softened a little as he said, "Well, don't take it too hard, Forty-Nine. Maybe I exaggerated a little to make sure you get the point. It isn't like we haven't stared. I saw how Jerry was looking at you. I haven't seen him eye a woman like that in a while."

"It was kind of a funny look," I said. "I didn't understand it, really."

"You--" he stared at me a moment, incredulous, and seemed like he was about to say something. Then he shook his head, the look of vague surprise in his eyes fading. "Forget it. Come on, we're almost there."

I dropped the subject, though I remained curious. Bringing the topic around to another thought I had, I said, "I'm curious of something, Edgar."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"You seem nicer to me than you were at first, when we were in Jerry's office. What's different now?"

"Nuka Cola," he grunted, and would say no more. That told me all that I wanted to know right there. I'd heard of people developing mild to moderate addictions to the stuff, and when they didn't get enough of it, it made them sour and cranky. I looked at Edgar with new eyes, and while I figured we would never be the best of friends, I thought perhaps that he and I might get along after all.

We came now to an old store front. Most of the sign was gone, making it say "Erg t r on." The hand lettered sign under it said simply "Ergtronics". I heard voices as we stepped through the doorway and into the shop itself. It was an actual store, not just a free for all of scattered electronic junk. I didn't know what else I expected, really. I imagined it uses the typical post-war currency, bottlecaps, but it was also possible that the mutants--the people--of Akron had their own way of doing things.

Familiar smells reached me: the tang of copper from wire, the chemical stink of plastics, the sharp ozone smell of a burnt out motor, the slightly musty scent of ancient electronics catalogs and manuals. I loved old books, and I even had a few back at the vault. The smell of melting circuits and digital death was present as well, but so too was the hot smell of soldering irons and new electronic life and the lubricant used by Mr Handy units and other mechanicals.

Edgar led me through shelves that wound like a maze. I have expected to find that we were being stalked by some half-mechanical hybrid of man and bull, a cybernetic Minotaur. I loved all those olds stories as much as I loved studying Earth's old history. One thing was for sure: without Edgar leading the way, I would surely have become lost. So i made sure to not let my curiosity get the best of me (though I dearly would have loved to touch and explore and handle everything) and kept pace with the tall ghoul.

As we drew closer to wherever it was that he led me, I caught music from a radio. The singer was lamenting having ever left his home town, and how the "birds are the wingiest" and the "bees are the stingiest". A male voice commented, "Maybe I just don't get it, but I don't really think that the 'stingiest bees' is a great selling point for a community."

A second mutant--man--replied, "Well, old songs are weird like that, I guess. At least we didn't try to make up nonsense words to convey our thoughts."

"Because we didn't have to, Mark."

"Feh. Not that anyone listened, anyway."

As we emerged into the open work bay where both men conversed, I recognized one of them as being the tall, lanky mutant I'd seen taking a nap in Jerry's office. The other man was nowhere we to be seen. The lanky one looked at Edgar and myself and nodded in greeting, saying, "We got company, big brother."

The one he'd called Mark suddenly popped up from behind some low shelves. His sudden appearance made me think of the jack in the box toys that little children back at the vault liked to play with. He stood shorter than Edgar (though that really wasn't hard, considering that the ghoul towered over me, and I was five-eight.) and his wavy brown hair seemed resistant to efforts to contain it. He had it pulled back in a short tail, but a fall of waves spilled over one side of the work goggles he wore. That, combined with the graying lab coat he wore over the remnants of an old yellow environmental suit gave me the impression of a quite mad but still affable scientist.

"So we do, Bob. I'm Mark." He came around the corner of the shelving unit and looked me over. "So you're the normie everyone's been buzzing about?"

"That's me," I said, wondering if either brother was suddenly going to get grumpy with me. When that didn't seem imminent, I volunteered, "Pleased to meet you both. My name is--"

Bob cut me off, saying, "Friendly and well-mannered? Not bad, for a normie. Welcome to Akron, spud. One thing though..."

"Everyone who comes to this town, they earn their names," Mark said. "So until you'd earned that right, expect a lot of "Hey normie!" or "Hey, spudess."

I took a deep breath. Complimenting me on my manners (they obviously didn't know me very well, and the vault vixen whose tongue could turn living plants black was struggling valiantly to free herself to give these two chuckleheads a good dose of "Fuck you and the brahmin you walked in with" and "Suck my dick if I had one" or that perennial favorite of mine "Fuck your mother and die") on one hand, then telling me that I had to earn the right to be called by my own given name? Inconceivable.

Before I could say anything, Edgar volunteered, "I've just been calling her Forty-Nine, since she comes from the vault." He smirked, and his own amusement made the two mutants grin.

"I think I like 'Spudess' better," Bob offered. "They grow under the ground, and so do people from the Vault."

Mark snickered. "Good one. Maybe later we can stuff her in a sack and store her in the root cellar." Both brothers laughed at his wit, and Edgar joined in, his raspy wheezing in counterpoint to the two mutants' hearty guffaws.

Unimpressed, I folded my arms across my chest and leaned against the counter. "Oh, hah hah. We came here for a reason."

"Figured as much," Mark said. He worked on pushing his goggles up on his forehead. "Everyone has to be somewhere. So, what's going on? I figure Jerry sent you over here. He's been in a mood lately."

I saw his eyes for the first time now, and again, I had to catch myself from making any outward show of surprise. They were completely, totally blue: the whites, irises, and pupils, all varying shades of blue, from indigo (the pupil) shading out towards ice blue (the sclera). I wondered, briefly, how having such unusual eyes affected his vision, and forwent asking him. Staring was rude, and I figured that asking would be even more rude.

He smiled then, saying, "Weird, huh? In the times before--way before the war--I was legally blind. I couldn't go anywhere without my glasses. Not even to the fucking bathroom. I'm still technically blind, spud. Just now I can see in the infrared and ultraviolet spectra. Paints pictures as clear as day. The goggles--" he gestured to the elaborate set of eyewear that now perched on his forehead--" let me see outside of those spectra. Nowhere near as sharp, though, but sometimes it's necessary." He left the goggles up, and from his expression and his sardonic smile, I guessed that the young mutant (older than me, from what I'd seen so far, of all fo them) had shown me to test my reaction.

Perhaps I'd passed that test, for Bob 1 said, "So, what's going on, spud? Why have you people over there in the Vault been blowing us off for the past three days? Jerry's been in a mood over that because he was starting to think that the mutants had wiped you off the map, or something, and we'd be next."

"That's why the gates are shut?" I asked. I got no immediate answer, so I simply launched into explaining that I'd been trying to repair the damn radio for the past week and a half. "It shorted out on the 12th of March," I explained. "I'm pretty much the resident Vault techie, so everyone shoves that shit my way. 'Fix the radio, Shae.' 'Fix the jukebox, Shae.' 'Fix my vibrator, Shae.' Okay, I made that last one up, but you get the point."

"Yeah, we do." Bob bit the insides of his cheeks. Mark's shoulders shook a little. Now he added, "Well, Jerry's pretty much the big boss around here. We're all co-founders, but his word is usually the final one. Mind, I am not exactly without power around here, either. But if you want those gates opened, you're going to have to soften his mood."

"How would I go about that?" I asked.

"He loves wine," Bob 1 said. "There aren't many he doesn't already have, but I'm picking if you brought him a bottle of 1950 Barolo Giacomo or one of the Chateau Moutons he goes on about he'd be a lot more friendly."

"A what now? Seriously? The gates needed to be opened before trading season begins, and you want me to go find some obscure bottle of alcohol that might or might not be available? My people need to trade, Mark. Not to mention what could happen when the Outcasts roll through here and find the gates closed, and--"

Mark only smiled. "Well, the Outcasts aren't going to waste resources blowing down our gates. They've been struggling. Last year, they dropped a shitload of caps with Alan and his people for repairs and ammo. As for you, I suggest that you hop to it and bring back that wine."

'This is blackmail." I couldn't believe it. "Is this because we didn't answer you guys? Come on. We've been trading partners for two decades now. You have to know we wouldn't just--"

"No. It's strong negotiations" Mark glanced at his watch. "It's getting late. Edgar, take her to Millie's Place and get her fed, and rested. You can head out tomorrow, spudess."

Bob 1 added, "It's not about your radio problems. There's things going on that we can't get into. We aren't at liberty to say what. You'll just have to trust us."

"If this wasn't so fucking important to the survival of my Vault and others," I ground out, "I wouldn't be in much of a mood to give two shits in an outhouse. As it is, you've got me over a barrel. So yeah, Edgar, take me wherever I'm going, before I lose my sweet and friendly manners." I turn to head out, but not before saw the brothers Mothersbaugh exchange amused looks. The strains to a song about someone named Jonee followed me about the door.


	3. Worried Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shae makes friends wherever she goes.

For a bit, I didn't say anything as Edgar and I walked to Millie's Place. From the name and what I could gather from Mark's words, it was like one of those old taverns from back in the day, perhaps with rooms for rent as well. That brightened my spirits a little. Back before rapid transportation such as cars and trains had become commonplace, I knew that people has taken days or even weeks to travel distances that with a car would take so little time it was almost inconsequential. Inns had been a thing because travelers had needed a safe place to stay, out of the reach of the local natives and wild animals. In some ways, Akron was giving me a glimpse into the past, as well as a life that I had not known inside the vault.

if I refuse to be taunted into a reaction and just enjoy being here, in a new place and experiencing new things, it will be much more pleasant. I wonder what the other two--Alan and Bob2--are like? As we walked through the town in the slowly gathering dusk, I decided to ask.

He gave me a sidelong look, as if judging my intent, and said, "All five of them are good mutants, Forty-Nine. A bit strange, I guess, but considering they have been alive since shortly after the Second World War, I guess they're entitled to some eccentricities. They used to be in a band that had, as I understand it, an unusual philosophy that they call 'De-Evolution'. They still have it, so far as I can tell."

"De-evolution'," I repeated, fascinated. "What exactly does that mean? How have they been alive that long?"

Street lamps were beginning to come on now, casting a glow over the evening gloom. Did they use generators for their power? I wouldn't be surprised. These mutants didn't live like savage tribals.There were very tech-aware and quite self-sufficiant with regards to energy sources and machines.I wondered in what other ways they were similar to my Vault. Were we really so very different? Physically, there were differences, but what about mentally and--where it counted the most--inside? If they were giving me a hard time, I thought, was it that much different from their being hassled by the 'normies'? Maybe not.

Edgar said, "Well, I don't have such a great handle on it myself, to be able to explain. And I don't know the whole story. I know that I've known them for nearly one hundred years, Forty-Nine, and believe me, they haven't aged. Whatever made them mutants slowed down their aging just like it did with us ghouls. As for De-Evolution, it's like I get it, but when I try to word it, I can't really. If you want to know more, kiddo, you'd be best off getting it sttraight from them. Especially Jerry. He's the one who came up with it." Edgar looked thoughtful in the street's soft light. "I don't know what happened to him-and don't you go asking, hear me?--to make him come up with something that cynical."

"Understood, Edgar," I told him. I'd seen Jerry talking with Edgar, and had heard, under his anger, a deep worry, something which of course had been verified. I had to wonder what had him so concerned. Whatever I might have thought of him, he was obviously very invested in the welfare of his people and his fellow founders.

"Good. He's a good man, but...best to let him tell you himself, should he ever decide to."

Edgar led me to an old bar and grill, the sort of which had no doubt proliferated during the times before the war. A large neon sign proclaimed "Millie's Place" and underneath it was added "Only Neon Sign in Town". That made me smile. Whoever Millie was, she obviously took pride in the fact that her place had the only working neon sign. It made me happy just looking at it. Here was a piece of the past that outside New Vegas was a rare and wondrous sight. I made a note to ask her about it, should she prove agreeable to talking.

"You gonna gawk at the sign all night, or come inside with me?" Edgar asked. His tone held amusement more than annoyance. Wow, I thought as I followed him inside, a bottle of Nuka Cola really does make a big difference with him. I would keep that in mind.

Inside, the bar was little different than those I'd seen on the entertainment holotape back at the vault: it was slightly dimmed, with a long, much polished bar, shelves full of liquor, wine, or beer, much of which I'd never seen before. The locals sat chatting at the bar or at tables as they drank and ate whatever the local fare was. all conversation faded to silence as Edgar and I walked across the room to the bar, however. I felt the stare of dozens of pairs of eyes on me we passed them It felt more curious and suspicious than outright hostile, but still, I knew that word had gotten around town about a 'normie' that had come to call.

Edgar led me up to the bar where a not entirely unfamiliar sight greeted me. It was just that the context was different. Behind the bar stood an eight foot tall, greenish-brown humanoid, outlandishly dressed in a purple flowered dress and bright red wig of wavy red hair. Around its--her--neck hung a strand of pearls that I could have worn around my waist. Her attire was complimented by a black and white fabric flower pinned in her 'hair'. Did she remember being a woman before being taken by the Master's children and dipped in the foul FEV vats, or had she adopted that, as super mutants no longer had gender? It didn't matter, and asking would be offensive. All that remained to show she'd once been a normie like myself were her eyes, which were dark brown, intelligent, and kindly looking.

"Well, look who's here!" she rasped out. I strongly suspected that even before being dipped she'd had what Vargas called a "whiskey and cigarettes voice". she grinned, and if it hadn't been for her eyes being so warm, it would have made me shit my pants. "Edgar Price! Ain't seen you in here for a bit. Who's this you got witch-a? That the new kid?" She peered at me over the rims of her lensless catseye frames.

"Yes, I'm--" I began, but Edgar cut me off. "Yep, that's the new meat in town, new spud, as the bosses would say. I'm calling her Forty-Nine, on account of the vault she's from. Kid, this is Millie. Other than the founders, she's our oldest living resident. Most beautiful, too." he grinned at her.

"Cut the shit, Edgar," she said, but I heard the deep fondness in her voice. She pointed now to a picture behind the bar, of a breathakingly lovely redhead in early middle years, dressed in some fashionable outfit from before the war. "I was gorgeous when I looked like that, sweetie," she told me. "I know what I look like now, but I'm at peace with it. Anyway, what's your real name? I know those boys like to give people embarrassing nicknames or call them 'spud' or 'Spudess' until they prove themselves, but I've never been known for playing along nicely."

"Shae Richardson, ma'am," I told her. Her eyes widened, and she said, "Ooh, listen to you, honey. All polite and shit. Well, your parents sure raised you right. You be sure and tell them so." She turned back to Edgar, saying, "So what kind of stupid fool errand is she getting sent out on?"

"Well, Jerry's in a mood and won't talk to her, so he sent her over to Mark. Mark's not playing ball either, so he thinks she ought to go fetch some fancy-pants wine for Jerry and soften him up, first. Then he'll no doubt what her to go to some junk heap in the wasteland and scavenge up some obscure doohickey or thingamajigger for his synthesizers or some art project of his." He smiled with wry amusement. "Doohickey and thingamajigger are technical terms."

"Hmmm," she grunted, looking at me and rubbing her chin. "Did you piss them off? they don't normally put anyone through all that, and it seems a bit much, even for a normie."

I shook my head. "No, ma'am--"

"Call me Millie, kid."

"No, Millie." I explained how the radio had decided to shit itself and die ten days before, and that'd I'd been struggling for the past three days to fix it. "You know the rest. the gates are still closed because they're annoyed at us normies who live in the Vault, and my Vault sent me over to see what's going on. Jerry's cranky because we weren't answering, and Mark won't tell me what's afoot, nor will anyone else. I'm told no one but Jerry is really at liberty to say." I flapped my arms in helpless disgust. "So I have to play these silly games and be a good little spudess and fetch." I snorted and plopped my butt onto the cracked leather barstool. "I promised my dad that I would keep my over the top swearing to a dull roar, but trust me when I say it's getting harder by the moment."

"Yeah, I can't blame you there. They have their ways, and thy have them for good reason, i guess. they can be harsh, but you won't find better folks in the wasteland. They're not being unfair... tougher than usual, it seems, but not unfair." She went to the selection of bottles behind me and examined them, then looked at me. Finally choosing a bottle of whiskey, she poured a shot and put it on the bar in front of me.

I opened my mouth to protest, but she waved her hand. "First one is on me, kid. I reckon you're headed off in the morning, right?" When I nodded, she said, "There's a room in the back that I keep available for folks who might need it. Twenty caps and its yours. I'll throw in dinner, if you make it thirty."

"Deal." I reached into my belt pouch and took out thirty caps. Giving them to her, I said, "Thank you, Millie. I actually feel a bit more welcome now."

"Don't mention it." she turned towards the back room. "Chatsworth, one wastelander special!"

A robot's voice called back, "One wastelander special coming right up, madam!" A clatter of pans and other kitchen noises rang out as the Mr Handy unit got to work.

Edgar turned to me, saying, "Listen, Forty-Nine, you're in good hands here. Millie's a good old gal. I'm going to see if I can't catch Jerry before he heads off to bed or gets too busy sitting up and drinking and shooting the shit with his brothers. Maybe I can convince them to let me come with. They can be hard at times, but they're basically decent people, and won't send you out on your own. The other founders, I mean. Anyway, I'll see if I can't have a chat with him and get him to go a bit easier on you. You're not so bad, for a normal."

I nodded to him. "Thanks, Edgar. You're not too bad yourself. Have a good night I'm headed off to bed soon as I eat."

"Good plan;. You'll want to get up bright and early." He nodded to Millie, saying, "Night, Millie."

"Good night, Edgar. Don't be a stranger." She watched him go, then said, "One thing you ought to understand about Jerry. Something awful happened when he was younger, and that along with seeing how the world was a whole was headed for hell in the proverbial handbasket has given him a bit of a sour outlook on normals. I'm willing to bet that when you folks at the Vault didn't answer, it made his mood a bit more grouchy towards you than it might have otherwise been," she said.

"I guess I can't blame him," I said, "but I was trying my hardest to get that damned radio fixed for that very reason. We didn't want you all to think we'd suddenly given you all the finger." I picked up my whiskey and sipped it. Not bad. A little rough around the edges, but smoother than most I'd had.

"Well, it's a good thing you didn't take his soupuss behavior personally, honey. That really would have done wonders for his disposition right now. Listen," she said, and leaned in close. Her breath was redolent with whiskey and hand-rolled cigarettes. She obviously liked to sample her own stock. Willing myself to not cough, I listened closely as she said, "That boy built a wall around his own heart that day long ago, not unlike the one around this town. Ain't no one ever breached it, but there's some folks he lets in. His brother, of course. And his friends, the other founders. Said they all used to be in a band, way the hell and gone back in the 1980s. Yet not a day of them past forty. Jerry's only 37, he says. Can you believe it? How is that even possible?"

I shook my head. "I don't know, Millie. But hell, there's super mutants--"

She interrupted me with "Honey, we prefer to be called "Meta Humans'. Since you didn't know any better, I won't beat you to death with your own arm"

"I--oh dear." I must have looked absolutely horrified, for she suddenly roared with laughter. "I'm just joking with you. Anyway, you were saying?"

"Um, well...I was saying there's Meta Humans. and Ghouls. And also things like Harold out near the capitol wasteland. If a ghoul merged with a tree can bring green plants back to the wastes, then why can't there be,, uh, ummm..." I was suddenly uncertain how to classify the other mutants I'd seen. Was it insulting to call them that? Seeing my confusion, Millie said, "They embrace the word 'mutant' and wear it with honor. I think it's all right to call them that."

I nodded. "Okay, then. Why can't there be mutants like them who've somehow survived, and even thrived, long after the war? Makes sense to me." It did. Refusing to accept that the town's founders had been alive since the 1940s, 1950s, and weren't a day older than their late 30s to show for it, yet being able to accept that things like that horrifying Dunwich Building (said to be able to turn people into ghouls just by their being there inside it) or space aliens or hell, even mundane monstrosities like Deathclaws seemed a bit like refusing an aspirin after one has swallowed a doorknob.

"I reckon they found some place to hide it out," Millie offered. "Went to ground, and into some kind of sleep, maybe. Or maybe I just read too many old science fiction stories."

Chatsworth hovered out from the kitchen, cayring a tray. On it was a steaming plateful of roasted meat and some vegetables I couldn't quite identify. Asparagus, perhaps. It smelled delicious though, and he placed it on the bar before me, saying, "Here you are, madam. Cooked to perfection and served with a smile. Or it would be, if I had a mouth. Enjoy!" He floated back to whence he came.

Without even caring what it all was or where it had come from, I dug in with gusto. Between mouthfuls, I answered Millie's questions about me and who I was. I told her that my mother had died to a raider attack when I'd been only four years old. "First year being an open Vault," I said. "We might as well hung up a big neon sign like yours out there saying "FREE FOOD, AMMO, AND WOMEN". It was our first year trading with you all, too, I recall. If your caravan folks hadn't been there, we might not have had enough people to ward the raiders off."

I sounded calm and collected, because I was. I still missed my mom some days, but truth be told, I was so young that I barely recalled her. I only rememvbered that she had pretty blonde hair like all the popular ladies of the Vault, her gentle voice and loving ways... and the fact that I'd inherited my ability to make a hardened soldier blush with my language from her. Mom, I recalled, had once let out a string of curses after mole rats had eaten the vegetables she'd been growing in the hydroponics lab so blisteringly hot that it could have fused the computer's delicate electronics. Dad had made a comment about 'little listeners having big mouths', and she'd quieted, but not before I'd gotten my first introduction to phrases like 'cocksucker' and 'thieving little shitweasels'

"Sorry to hear about your mom, honey.," she said, her voice gruff but kind. "My own family are all long dead... except I consider the folks here in town my family now." Pushing aside her sentimental mood, she nodded to my plate. "How's that shrub boar treating you? It's gamy, and sometimes normals like yourself have a time of it when it gets down to their bellies."

The boar was no problem. I had a strong stomach. Shrub boars were the descendants of domestic pigs gone hog wild after the war. The results of radiation, residual FEV, and 'survival of the fittest' had resulted in tough and fearsome wild swine. I nodded to her. "Thanks, Millie. I don't remember her well, only that she was lovely and kind. And her tongue would make even a hardened raider go white. As for the boar, yeah, it's gamy, but that isn't bad. The veggies kind of balance it out." I prodded a green stalk with my fork. "Wild asparagus?"

She grinned. "Close enough. Formerly wild. I kept the seeds and replanted them. Got a little garden out back. Say, I'm always looking for new plants. if while you're out traveling if you spot any interesting new edibles, an you bring me some samples?"

I nodded. "Sure, I think I can manage that."

"Thank you, Shae. Best eat up. You got a long, hard day ahead of you." She left me to finish eating. Once that had been accomplished, I said, "I best get on to bed. It's been a pleasure talking to you."

She smiled, then said, "Why it's been a real pleasure talking to you as well, honey. Haven't met too many normies who talk to me like I'm a person."

"Well... you are," I said, and meant it. "Just different, is all."

She nodded. "Well, so far as I'm concerned, you're welcome in my bar any time."

It was my turn to smile. "Thank you, Millie. Would you point me to the room?"

"Sure thing. Right down the hall, then make a left. She pointed in the direction she described, and I picked up my pack and started off. I heard the door to bar open, hear Millie call out a greeting to someone of which she obviously was fond, but my exhaustion outweighed my curiosity. I continued to my room.

Once there, I had a brief look around. It was about what I'd expect: a small room, with an old gun cabinet in place of a closet for one's possessions, a narrow bed with a hard looking mattress, the bedding old but as clean as many washings could make it, the gray wool blanket a little threadbare. There was a wastebasket, and an old two drawer filing cabinet used as a nightstand. It wasn't home, exactly, but what did it matter? I didn't imagine I'd be here long.

I dropped my pack on the bed then sat down to tug off my boots. My socks followed, then my Vault coveralls. Sitting back down on the bed in my boring Vault issue undergarments (gray panties, bra, and singlet vest) I opened my pack to take brief stock of what I had.

I'd been given a basic suit of leather armor--brown leather jacket, shoulder and knee pads, padded trousers--by Vault security to wear should it be needed. I hadn't worn it, nor had I carried the old basic issue 10mm pistol or combat knife. It wouldn't have done to come to Akron armed to the teeth, and get my ass blown away because I looked like one lone, suicidal Raider. Here also was a Vault issue canteen, yellow and blue with "49" on it, and basic survival gear for firestarting, first aid (including some Med-X and stimpaks from Dad), and my mother's old jeweled compact. Her face powder was long gone, but the mirror was still very usable for signalling and the like. I found my hairbrush, sunglasses, and an old hat, similar to the one Edgar wore.

Putting everything back, I found something else. It was an old photo of Dad, David, and myself. Dad was holding me on his hip, as I couldn't have been more than four at the time. Dave stood next to him, and had to have been about seven, maybe eight. I was holding my toy Mr Handy, and Dave had his baseball bat. Seeing the photo made me smile. Knowing that it was my favorite, Dad had taken this out of our family album and given it to me.

On a hunch, I flipped it over. Sure enough, both Dad and Dave had written a note. Dad's said, "We're proud of you, honey. Always remember that. We'll be thinking of you. Love, Dad." Dave's said, "Hey, sis. Lucky you, out seeing the world! Don't piss off the mutants. Love, Dave."

I smiled, thinking wryly, 'Might be too late for that.' I felt my eyes mist up a bit. There wasn't time for that. I missed them both already, but there were more important things to worry about. I turned off the light on my Pipboy and unclipped it from my arm. After setting a wake-up alarm on it for five am, I placed it on the nightstand. I fell asleep within minutes of crawling into bed.

****

Stepping outside in the dim light of early dawn, I got a bit of a surprise. Jerry was here, accompanied by Edgar and another mutant that I recognized only by his family resemblance to Jerry. He wore standard issue wastelander attire, but a white armband with a bold red cross proclaimed what I already knew: this was Bob 2, the town's doctor. Not even the most vicious and bloodthirsty raider would kill or harm a doctor or healer of any sort. Bob 2 looked, to my curious gaze, completely normal, and I had to wonder what it was that set him apart from the normies like myself. He caught my look with a smile, and nodded to me, but remained silent.

Jerry stepped forward, looking less suspicious and grouchy than the day before, and even a little chagrined. He said, "it seems I owe you an apology."

"Oh? I'm listening." I said this as Edgar nodded to me, then came to stand by my side, indicating that he'd successfully convinced them to let him come with me.

"Edgar and my brother," he nodded to Bob 2, "both feel I was too hard on you yesterday. In thinking on it, I decided that they were right. I'm sorry."

"I accept your apology. I'm sorry for firing back. Does this mean--" I ventured hopefully, regarding the gates.

He shook his head. "Not yet. And I can't let you off the hook about errands you may have picked up. You wouldn't wish to break your word, now would you?" He smirked slightly, and I wanted to whack it off his face with my hat. Sly bastard. He obviously knew about the little quest Mark had sent me on, and he wanted that wine.

Fuck me with a stick. "Well, no, we couldn't have that now could we?"

His brow furrowed. "Is that sarcasm I hear, spudess?" I saw his lips twitching, though, so he wasn't entirely put out by my show of sass. He said, "If you don't find those particular varieties, I would happily accept a lesser, but still fine, vintage."

"Do I look like a wine expert?" I groused. "What's next, Mark is going to send me after a fully functional Moog? I'm an electronics expert, not a provisioner."

Edgar snorted and turned away, shaking his head. Bob 2's eyes widened a little and he covered his mouth with his hand. I caught the sound of a snicker behind it as he and the ghoul exchanged looks. Jerry folded his arms across his chest, saying, "I didn't ask for any more lip out of you, normie. I came to apologize and tell you my terms."

You can shove your terms up your ass and pack it with sand, I thought, but that wouldn't get me anywhere. His strange cat's eyes flared orange at me, and with the anger, I saw that same odd look of speculation that had been there the day before. What was with him, anyway? Not voicing any of these, I only said, "Well, sarcasm is just one more service I offer." What was with me? I wanted to be good, yet at every turn, I felt an urge to push his buttons and see what made him tick.

"The normie is throwing some serious shade, big brother," Bob 2 teased him. Jerry gave him a sour look. Turning back to me, he said, "Those are my terms, babe. Either you take them or leave them. Meanwhile, my brother has a request of his own." Jerry gave me one final look--it practically blazed in the early morning light--then turned and walked off. My cheeks felt hot and red as I at last recognized the look for what it was.

Swallowing and feeling the dryness in my mouth, I turned to Bob 2. "What can I, uh, do for you?"

He smiled. "Don't mind my brother. Girls don't usually challenge him. Anyway, I'm usually too busy here in town to go out myself, but I am in desperate need of any chems you might find out there, for the pharmacy. Also, if you come across any medicinal herbs, such as echinacea, xander root, broc flower, things like that. We're chem resistant, so we often require double the dosage that you normies do."

"That I can do," I said. "My dad's a biologist, and is a;lso an expert in botany. He taught me what to look for. He's brilliant with plants. The Overseer says my dad can talk them into sprouting."

"Your dad," Bob 2 mused. Suddenly, his hazel eyes lit up. "Your dad is Dr. Paul Richardson? He came here once, about twenty years back. We ended up sharing some scotch he'd brought and talking about herbs and medicine until dawn one night."

But--how--their ages... It blew my mind. Now I had even more questions. Instead, I answered with, "Really? He never told me that, though I do recall he'd come here for a few days shortly after I'd turned eight. He did warn me, well... not to get stroppy. while I was here." I covered my face with my palm. "Not making a great impression, am I?"

"Nope," Bob 2 agreed congenially. He patted my shoulder. "Don't worry aboiut it, though. My brother will calm down by the time you get back. Besides..." he broke into a grin, and now the resembelence was even stronger. "...I think he likes you. Well, don't take too long, you two. I need those chems." Bob 2 turned, hands in pockets, singing soflty under his breath.

"Crack that whip... give the past a slip..."

Edgar gave me a disapproving stare. "You sure do know how to win people over, smoothskin."


End file.
